Welcome to my Alaska kitchen

In search of more treats and friends and fewer algorithms

Hello from Anchorage on a cold February afternoon so bright you need sunglasses to walk to the mailbox. Here’s a perverse symptom of having grown up here: there’s something about starting my car in the subzero half-dark right now, putting my bare hands on a cold steering wheel, that feels grounding. Like the Alaska version of touching grass.

This is a fo…